Old Times
by little-writes
Summary: John Watson returns to 221B just to relay a message... and to get away. He ends up getting much, much more.


John walked up to the familiar door of 221B, a light snow falling. Mary had insisted they could just call to confirm the Christmas dinner at his parent's house but John had other plans. Besides- he needed to get away. Maybe it was cruel… he ignored her a work and home and escaped the house whenever he could- but shooting his best friend in the chest was also cruel. He opened the door with the key Sherlock had given him when they lived together and never asked for upon his second moving out. He really hadn't asked for anything when John left.

Sherlock was so odd. He didn't ask for his key back but got rid of John's chair; he hardly spoke to him after the wedding. He refused to stay in the hospital- opting to do God knows what in his apartment. Janine was gone. He had Mrs. Huston but that still seemed lonely. John walked up the stairs to the apartment, not bothering to knock on that door either. "Sherlock," he called as he entered. To his surprise Sherlock was lounging on the couch with his robe on, his bow in one hand and his violin dangling over the side of the couch. "Thought you'd be working on a case," he said bluntly.

"None," Sherlock replied. "Bored," he droned. John sat on the arm of the sofa.

"Nice though, having no murders around Christmas," Sherlock simply mumbled in response. He reminded John more of child forced to wait for his parents to stop chatting at a party than a bored detective. John always considered him more of a tosser than a disobedient child. Maybe he just got better at deducing. The pouted lips, the slumped shoulders, the way his voice jumped when he needed a cigarette- very childish.

"We could go out."

"What about Mary?" he asked still staring at the ceiling. John winced. So many people had been asking about Mary. How she was adjusting to married life, how was the pregnancy? Had she had found anything annoying about him now that they were stuck together? Those people didn't know and John could grin and bear it. Sherlock on the other hand was caught in the crossfire- literally. John's heart was shattered but it was Sherlock's heart that had almost stopped beating.

"Boys night," John explained. He tapped Sherlock's calf, "come on, get dressed." He stood up and walked towards his old chair, which had miraculously returned. John just hoped Sherlock had stored the thing as opposed to tossing it as rubbish. He wasn't keen on finding a family of rats nestled in the cushions.

"Not in the mood," Sherlock rolled over to his side, his back to John. "Besides, the last time we went out it was a bit of a disaster."

"Made a good story though." Sherlock's deep chuckled echoed through the room, causing John to chuckle himself. That night had been a disaster. He was thankful Sherlock left out some of the more raunchy parts of the night. The gay bar, John clinging to him for support on the walk home, John flashing his cock to a group of women at a bar (really it was just his pants but either way).

Sherlock was facing John now, leaning on his elbow for support. "I especially liked the little strip tease you did for the boys, though I think they enjoyed it more," John stiffened.

"What boys?" Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed, the look he always gave John when he missed something obvious.

"At the gay bar- the one with the three way murder in the ba-"

"Yes I remember the case," John cut off. He and Sherlock both agreed it was best to keep that case off the blog records- though the newspapers had a field day with it. Greg insisted it was just because of the odd circumstance of the case, but John really knew why people were buzzing about it. "I never stripped there though."

"Yes you did." There was a pause. "You were probably too drunk to notice, they were drag queens John."

"And how they hell did you notice? You're more a lightweight than me!"

"Debatable," he deadpanned. "And their Adam's apples were clear as day. From where I was sitting at least." John pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Christ." Sherlock was about to reassure his friend's sexuality when John started to laugh. "Why didn't you tell me?" He managed to ask through heavy laughs.

"I assumed you knew."

"Sherlock I'm not gay!" Sherlock just sighed and rolled onto his back. "What?"

"No, nothing," he brushed off.

"Sherlock, I'm serious what?" He leaned over his chair towards Sherlock. "Listen Sherlock, I'm not gay. I don't care what you're detective cheekbones say-" Sherlock shot John a confused look at that. "I'm not. Gay."

"Have you ever had a gay experience?" John straightened.

"What? No!" There was another pause. "Oh like you have."

"John, I had many other cases before I met you. Many false identities and motives." John couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Not to mention those three years hiding lead way to some… interesting situations-"

"Okay, I get the point. So what if I've never had a gay experience, plenty of people haven't experimented and they know they're not gay."

"You're so close minded John."

"I can't believe I'm getting this lecture from you- of all people!"

"You could simply be more attracted to women than men-"

"That makes me straight."

"Deba-"

"Don't you-"

Now things were starting to feel like old times. John practically wanted to murder the next person who walked down the street just so Sherlock would have a case to distract him from John's personal life. "By the way, Mary does want to come to your parent's house for Christmas so if you could tell them to set for two extra-" Sherlock suddenly got up and walked over to John. He placed both hands on the arms of the chair and loomed over him. John sat back in his chair, looking up at Sherlock. He had a hunter look in his eyes- like a cat stalking its prey. Before John could question Sherlock leaned down and gave him a deep kiss- his tongue forcing his way into John's mouth. John simply sat there, his eyes wide and his hands clinging to the fabric of the chair.

A moment later Sherlock pulled away and walked back to the couch without a word. "There," he said simply once he was settled on his back. "Now you've properly experimented." John took a moment to decide if he should scream at Sherlock, beat him to a pulp, or tell him the truth. The truth seemed like the less harmful option.

"You're a horrible kisser." Sherlock sat up suddenly.

"What? No I'm not!"

"You kiss like a middle scholar whose only practiced on pillows."

"No one else has said that- Janine never said that!"

"Well Janine was clearly too nice for her own good," John declared. Sherlock frowned before flopping back onto the couch. There was that disobedient child again. Honestly he should spank him.

John walked over and sat on the edge of the couch. He cupped Sherlock's cheek and made him turn to John. He leaned down and gently pressed his lips against Sherlock's. John's tongue ran across Sherlock's bottom lip, asking if he could let him in. Sherlock's mouth parted slightly and John let his tongue run across the hard surface of Sherlock's top teeth. Sherlock reached up and wrapped his hands around the back of John's head, pulling him closer. Sherlock shifted so John was lying on top of him.

John continued to hold Sherlock's face as his tongue lightly flicked Sherlock's lips and parted mouth. Sherlock moaned as he tried to take control of the kiss, trying to shove his tongue into John's mouth and tugging at his hair. John pulled away slightly, groaning as Sherlock pulled at the roots of his hair. His hands moved down to Sherlock's shoulders and took a tight hold of them- he pressed hard against Sherlock's lips causing a satisfied moan to escape the detective's mouth. After a few more moments John pulled away slowly. "That is a proper kiss."

Sherlock looked up his only friend, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glossed over- trying to piece together everything that had just happened. Sherlock hated feeling venerable- but for once he didn't mind it. He wrapped his arms around John's waits and pulled him close, pressing his head against love's shoulder. John didn't argue. Sherlock was his best friend. He did love him- just not the way everyone assumed he did. He refused to explore the possibility- especially now.

The first woman he saw himself spending the rest of his life with was a lie. Sherlock was at least real. No one could fake being such a dick all the time.

"You have to forgive Mary," Sherlock said suddenly against John's shoulder.

"Are you really brining this up now?" The kiss had been nice. Something he'd never bring up again, and wring Sherlock's neck if he ever did, but nice all the same.

"John she loves you."

"Not enough to be truthful to me," he pointed out.

"Do I love you any less?" John raised his eyebrows, though Sherlock couldn't see. He was still nestled against John's shoulder blade. Sherlock chuckled, "for someone so angry when you first found out- you sure have forgotten easily." John sighed,

"Sherlock-"

"Just think about it." Sherlock let go of John's torso and slipped out from under him. "I'm going to bed, need to rest up that wound." John just stared at him, still looking as if he was leaning over someone on the abandoned couch. "You don't mind showing yourself out, do you?" John gritted his teeth. The bastard.

"Fine." He got up and started for the door.

"John," he stopped in the doorway and looked at Sherlock. "Thank you," he said in a low tone before walking to his bedroom. With that John was alone in the apartment. He thought about going upstairs to sleep in his old bed, but Sherlock's one request, the one thing he asked for before he left, rang in his ears. He closed the door to the flat and started to his home where Mary was most likely sleeping.

* * *

A Valentines gift for my bae who wanted fluffly Johnlock.

It's becoming clear I can only do angst.


End file.
